


I’m too young to feel numb (so give me just enough to make me feel something)

by TheBashfulPoet



Series: Andreil Week 2019 [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Andreil Week 2019, M/M, Raven!Neil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-06-24 06:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19717957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBashfulPoet/pseuds/TheBashfulPoet
Summary: “This is a stupid fucking idea.”“It’s the only one we have.”Andrew takes a deep drag from his cigarette and lets the smoke pour from his lips in a lazy cloud. “Doesn’t make it any less stupid.”Andreil Week Day One: Alternative Meeting





	I’m too young to feel numb (so give me just enough to make me feel something)

**Author's Note:**

> That's right my dudes! I'm coming at you with some new fics all week to celebrate our favorite boys! If you've seen my tumblr then you know I have 8 brand new stories for you in the next week with Day 8 being a complete surprise!
> 
> Hope you enjoy the stories guys, they were a lot of fun to write!
> 
> The song that inspired the title of this fic: [Feel Something - Jaymes Young](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q5gQtyobFLg)

“This is a stupid fucking idea.”

“It’s the only one we have.”

Andrew takes a deep drag from his cigarette and lets the smoke pour from his lips in a lazy cloud. “Doesn’t make it any less stupid.”

Kevin glares, “Well it’s not like I see you coming up with any alternatives!”

“I did. You just were too cowardly to let me do them,” he replies in a lazy drawl, cutting the car’s engine as they reach the stadium.

“Going to Evermore and sticking a knife in Riko is _not_ an alternative! It’s a suicide mission.”

“And yet our problems would be over if I did.”

“You’re not listening!”

“I’m listening just fine. _Some_ of us aren’t afraid of the little raven bastard, Day.” He opens the door and climbs out, shutting the door in Kevin’s indignant face before he can reply.

Sadly, it only buys him a moment of reprieve before the passenger side door opens and slams shut behind him. “That’s because you don’t know what he’s capable of Andrew! He-”

“I think I know perfectly well what that bastard's capable of doing, or did you forget Coaches little call this evening, hmm?”

Kevin’s face goes pale and Andrew damn near rolls his eyes. Seems like someone is feeling a little guilty about a certain fox’s death this evening. Useless if you ask him. Seth had one foot in the grave anyways, so when Wymack called saying the man overdosed in the bathroom of some dingy club Reynolds had dragged them to for a night out, Andrew was only minorly inconvenienced. Firstly, because it was just a little too “coincidental” that he overdosed so soon after Kathy’s show (which in itself was a fucking shit show) and secondly it meant the Foxes were out the season before they could even face a certain flock of birdies on the court come October. Hmm, yes, a little too coincidental indeed.

“I told them he would retaliate,” he says tightly. “I warned them not to go out.”

“And yet he died anyway. Too bad, so sad.”

The paleness falls away to rage, “It _is_ bad. Without Seth, we can’t _play_. The ERC will kick us from the season and drop us to D2. You know what happens then?” He crowds Andrew, “No more scholarship for Aaron or Nicky. No more PSU Foxes. No more sober nights on game days.”

Andrew’s fingers twitch toward his armbands and he gives Kevin a smile. “Careful Day.”

His eyes flicker with wariness, but he remains steady and strong. (Andrew would applaud the bit of spine the coward’s shown for the first time all day if not for the fact that it encouraged this stupid situation, they were in.) “We need his help. With it maybe we can keep the Foxes in the season. Hell, maybe we can even get Riko to back off if only a little.”

“And who exactly is _he_ , hmm?” Andrew counters, curious despite himself. The moment Coach’s call ended, Kevin had immediately pulled out his phone and started a call of his own, talking to someone in quick terse French before hanging up and telling Andrew they needed to get back to PSU.

This time Kevin does falter, fear and doubt swimming in his eyes and causing his shoulder to curl inward. “Someone who can help.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Kevin shakes his head. “You’ll meet him soon enough. Let’s just… let’s just wait inside.”

Andrew had half the mind to slip free one of his knives and cut the answer out of him if it did not seem like too much effort right then and there. Maybe when they got inside the locker room with the shiny concrete floors and the drain in the middle. Hmm, yes clean up would be _much_ simpler then…

“You better be right about that Day. I will only wait so long before I have my answers.” He warns with a flick of his wrist to show the hint of the knives tucked way there.

Kevin stares at them and then at the court. “You’ll get them. Maybe not as many as you want, but some.”

With that he makes his way to the court doors, punching in the code and holding it open for Andrew to catch up. He takes his sweet fucking time as he finishes his cigarette down to the filter. Kevin’s annoyed huff was worth the extra few minutes he had to wait for answers. (Perhaps it will teach him not to hide things in the future, yes?)

When Andrew finally joins him in the doorway, Kevin lets the door swing shut behind them as he punches in the security code and flips on the lights. Once their eyes readjust, Kevin starts making his way to the locker room undoubtedly to change into his gear for a round of practice. Andrew contemplates telling him no but decides it was probably best to let the junkie run himself ragged on the court rather than nervously pacing around while waiting for their mysterious guest to arrive. When Kevin doesn’t even bother pestering him about playing, Andrew figures he must be more nervous than he originally thought. Interesting.

Grabbing his racquet, he pushes open the door without a glance to see if Andrew will follow. Oh yes, someone was quite worked up weren’t they. Perhaps Andrew will suit up just to see how far he could be pushed before the inevitable breakdown came. However, the thought gets quickly dismissed by the roll of nausea that accompanies the first wave of withdrawal. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he sees that he has a little over an hour before the symptoms morph into something worse and he’ll need to take his next dose (or pass out). If Kevin’s little friend wanted to talk, he better arrive sooner rather than later.

He tucks his hands into his pockets and follows Kevin out to the court only to walk straight into the man’s back when he steps through the archway. Before he could ask what the fuck he was doing standing there like an idiot, he notices the lights on in the inner court and a speckle of black and red standing in its center. A familiar combination of black and red.

Drawing a blade in either hand, he shoves Kevin behind him and lets out an angry snarl. The figure doesn’t turn around, instead choosing to tip his head back as if to inspect the ceiling of the stadium, so Andrew uses the time to assess the threat. The figure is just about his height if not a bit taller (damn him) with a slim figure accented by the loose clothing he wore. Clothing bearing the Edgar Allen Logo. However, his most distinctive feature is his auburn hair that burned bright in the fluorescent lighting. Andrew runs through the entire Raven lineup but not a single one matches up to the man standing before them. Regardless, Andrew tightens his grip on the blades because if he’s learned anything from the past year, any Raven was a bad Raven.

“The amount of orange in this place is absolutely sickening,” comes a bored reply from the man, a lilt in his voice that Andrew can’t quite place. “I’m surprised your eyes haven’t burned out of your skulls just looking at it.”

“Says the man who lives underground in a monochromatic dungeon.” Andrew tosses back, urging Kevin further back. “Oh, I’m sorry I mean _nest_.”

“Funny,” the man turns around lazily, thumbs tucked into his pockets, shoulders slack, and the brightest blue eyes Andrew has ever seen in his life. It’s almost enough to distract him from the smirk on those pink lips and the words still pouring from them. “I thought someone who wears as much black as you do would appreciate the aesthetic.”

“Perhaps I would be more inclined if it didn’t mean selling my soul and being the prisoner to some psycho child playing king.”

Anger flashes in those bright eyes and Andrew readies himself for a fight. But to his surprise, as quickly as the anger comes it’s gone and replaced with the same bored look of amusement from before. “Ah yes, Riko does dampen the appeal I must admit.”

“And yet you drink the Kool-Aid regardless.”

The man shrugs a shoulder but doesn’t disagree. Instead, his eyes flick over Andrew’s shoulder to Kevin. “Long time no see Kevin. Miss me?”

Kevin freezes at his side. “N-Neil.”

“Ah, so you do remember my name! And here I was thinking you forgot since I haven’t heard from you in what? About a year now?” He shakes his head. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you didn’t like me.”

Kevin flinches and shies behind Andrew. “You’re my brother, of co-”

“ _Fuck being your brother_ ,” Neil snarls, his face twisting with resentment and rage. Kevin back peddles away as Neil stalks forward. “What do you know about _brothers_ , you cowardly piece of-”

Andrew moves forward, knife ready with a warning of what happens when someone tries to touch what’s his when a small click fills the air followed by the cool press of metal to the back of his head.

“Take another step and I’ll put a bullet through your head,” a gruff voice warns with the hint of a French accent. Andrew, smartly, remains still. “Drop the knives.”

“That hardly seems fair.”

“Ask me if I care.”

Neil waves his companion off. “It’s fine Jean, leave him be. We both knew how he was before we even came to this godforsaken state.”

Jean Moreau. Starting backliner for the Edgar Allen Ravens and Riko’s number three of his perfect little court. Sure enough, when Andrew turns his head, he spots that little tattoo on his left cheekbone — three little lines matching the two on Kevin’s cheek and the one on Riko’s. It’s not until Andrew turn back to Neil that he notices the IV branded on his cheek. He tilts his head. He didn’t know Riko had a four (seems like Kevin has been hiding things from him after all).

“Aw has Riko been talking about me? I’m flattered, really but he’s not my type, too psychopathic for my taste. Be sure to tell him I said so when you go back and give your report.”

“Tell him yourself,” Neil shrugs, “I don’t report back to Riko.”

Andrew narrows his eyes, “And who exactly _do_ you answer to?”

A sharp grin, one that twists his face into something cold and terrifying. “Myself mostly. The main branch upon occasion, but usually they don’t bother unless it interferes with business.”

This time Andrew is the one who stills. “And what does the main branch want with Kevin?”

“Nothing,” Neil shrugs, the smile disappearing behind a blank mask once more (but Andrew wasn’t fooled in the least).

“Don’t lie to me,” he snarls, fingers tightening their hold despite the press of the gun pushing harder against his skull in warning.

“I’m not. The main branch doesn’t want anything from Kevin.” He seems to think on that, “Well at least for now. Perhaps when he goes pro, they might want some money, but I’m not too sure on those details.”

“Then why are you here.” Andrew ground out, tired of this game.

“Because I called him,” comes Kevin’s voice from behind.

The three of them turn to acknowledge the striker, who flinches at the attention. When he works up the courage to meet Neil’s eyes, he squares his shoulders and says something in French. Neil’s face closes off while Moreau’s twists into a snarl as he barks something back to Kevin in the same language. Whatever it was lights a fire under Kevin who responds in kind until they start flinging barbed comments (at least Andrew _thinks_ they're barbed from the fury burning in both their eyes) in rapid succession. Kevin must say something particularly nasty because the next thing he knows Neil jumps in quick and vicious and shuts the other two up.

Tired of being left out, Andrew steps in front of Kevin, cutting him off from the other two. “Now again in English.”

Those blue eyes burn in fury. “Kevin here thinks he’s owed a favor. He is wrong.”

“But-”

“We owe you _nothing_ ,” Jean snarls. “If anything, you owe _us_ , or did you forget exactly how you made it out of that banquet last fall?”

Kevin flinches, “No.”

“Really? Because you had the audacity to _order_ us out here like you’re still number two. Like you didn’t throw that out the moment you stepped out of Edgar Allen. Like-”

Neil walks over and touches Jean’s shoulder lightly, silencing the man instantly. Jean grimaces but lowers the gun from Andrew’s head and shifts so he hovers closer to Neil’s side, putting himself just slightly between him and Andrew’s knives. Neil lets his touch linger for a second before turning back to Kevin.

“We’re not in the Nest, Kevin. Not in some scrimmage with Testuji breathing down our necks. You have no rank here.” His eyes flash. “And you _never_ had power over me.”

Kevin stills then bows his head in acknowledgment. “You’re right. I am sorry.”

Andrew flicks a bored glance at his charge. He didn’t think Kevin knew the words I’m sorry let alone could string them together in a sentence without his trademark sneer and haughtiness. He looks back to Neil and Moreau, wondering just who exactly this man was and what power he held that made not one but two Raven’s fall back into deference. Oh, somebody was becoming more and more interesting by the second.

“And what exactly does Kevin think you could possibly do for us?”

Neil looks to Andrew then, “I can give you what you both want.”

He looks to Kevin.

“A way to be free.”

Back to him.

“And a way to destroy Riko once and for all.”

Andrew meets those striking blue eyes head on and lets those words sink in. He thinks about the cold smile that graced his lips prior, the fire that lit in those eyes when Kevin snarled at Moreau, the amusement when Andrew implied Riko as nothing more than a psychopathic child throwing a tantrum. He thinks of his burning hair and pink lips and those blue blue eyes. Oh, this man was dangerous, so dangerous in fact that Andrew thinks getting involved with him would sooner end in his own death alongside Riko’s.

He lets the knives drop to the floor and extends out a hand. “I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. Andrew Minyard.”

Neil looks at his hand before clasping it firmly in his own. “Nathaniel Wesninski.” Kevin sucks in a breath at the name, but Andrew ignores him in favor of the smile Neil gives him next. “But most people call me Neil.”

Oh, this man was dangerous indeed, but maybe not just in the ways Andrew first assumed.

“Well Neil, how about we make a deal?”

**Author's Note:**

> So fun fact about this story in particular, I have an entire world based around this story. I want to say that I will write it one day, but really I got something else in store for y'all


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